


Maid in London

by TijuanaTango



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Chubby Girl, F/M, London, Overweight OC, Ugly girl gets the guy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 12:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TijuanaTango/pseuds/TijuanaTango
Summary: A chubby 24 year old named Emma Parish who works for her aunt’s maid service grows a relationship with Mr. Niall Horan.





	1. The sheets are white like the moon my love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niall walks in on an intruder. Emma nearly gets arrested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Music:
> 
> My Side of The Bed by Susanna Hoffs  
> https://youtu.be/wnkdccMhEww

“Got that Emma?” Aunt Jolene’s voice crackled through the receiver. “You weren’t listening, were you?” she said, a mixture of frustrated and tired.

“No, yeah, I got it, I’ve been working for the same bloke for a year, Jo, I don’t need your instructions anymore” I said, quietly, hoping that she wouldn’t hear so that I wouldn’t have to deal with her frankly barf-inspiring angry voice. It was like nails on a chalkboard made of maggots or something. I don’t know, that metaphor isn’t the best.

“Em. Don’t fuck this up.” She said, hanging up abruptly and officially setting the tone for my morning. I was on transit on the way to my first job of the day, café bathroom cleaner extraordinaire, or as I like to put it, “not hot enough to be a barista but built like a new workhorse so we’ll pay her to do the stuff the hot people won’t do.” It’s kind of like charity work on my part, if you think about it. I clean up the sick and the piss from bathroom stalls that my arse barely fits into, and the beautiful people get to go about their days talking about parties and Instagram and the new iPhone. I’m a fucking saint. Regular ol’ Mother Theresa, I am.

Aunty Jolene always worried when the bloke I work for is in, she thinks I’m going to do something stupid like beg him to give me his Irish babies or, I don’t know, herpes. Whatever pop star lads do in their spare time I suppose. Him giving me herpes is honestly more likely than him you know, putting it in me. I don’t know, boys aren’t really into the full figured.

Sometimes I wish it was like the 1800s or whenever girls were prized if they were thick. Like back when there was famine and the chubby girls were the rich ones. If I looked the way I do now back then I’d have suitors lined up for miles, and absolutely no money to give them.

The bus lurched at my stop which sent my face crashing into the window, as it did nearly every morning, and left a huge red mark, as it did nearly every morning. I got off the bus, ignoring catcalls from schoolboys (they weren’t the good kind of catcalls) and also ignoring that fact that I just secretly wished that men might catcall me in a serious manner. My inner feminist is vomiting and performing an exorcism, I am a grub in a bowl of dirt.

Work work work. Walk in, put purse and parka beneath bench in the back room, am immediately directed to the bathroom where somebody has thrown toilet paper all over. It kind of looked like a mummy’s sweet 16, gauze streamers and whatnot. Did you get that joke? I’m working on my humour. My therapist told me that I hide behind jokes but I think she’s full of shite because A. I’m not that funny, and B. I couldn’t hide behind a Vauxhall Nova. After cleaning out the bathroom I was alerted to a spill in the dining room, some toddler spilled a sugary whipped-cream thing that toddlers shouldn’t be drinking all over the wall, floor, his mum. His mum. She was furious; I’ve never seen anyone that angry with a baby, and then angry with me for not cleaning quickly enough, and then Shannon, the prettiest of the pretty baristas, who apparently didn’t make the drink toddler proof.

Soon after I was directed to the back room where a mop bucket (which I didn’t fill) had been spilled all over. And so my day marched on and on, one mess after another, me wishing I was making coffee instead of cleaning it up, the baristas telling inside jokes and speaking shite French. I wanted to speak shite French with them, to be completely and utterly honest but I actually speak French so there’d be quite a bit of a learning curve on their part.

Work was over rather quickly and I hopped on the bus again and went to job number two. Why two jobs, you ask? Well private school doesn’t pay for itself, does it? My wee sister Rebecca had some behavioural issues so my mum and me took on some extra work to get him into a school that would help him out. He never really got over dad fucking off to Ibiza with our aunt Kay, but what’re you gunna do. I turned up my iPod as loud as possible, so loud that my brain rattled a bit and the near permanent red mark on my forehead probably pulsated, because it was after classes were out for the day and there were many, many youths on the bus and, well fat girls and buses full of teenagers mix about as well as oil and water.

I actually like my second job. In fact, I look forward to it. I work as a maid at two different houses, but for the same person. Mr Niall Horan. Yeah, like the boy band guy. Before you ask I never met him, he’s always on tour or I’ve just missed him. Truly, though, the schedule is set up so that he doesn’t ever have to see the help. I call myself the help on purpose because it makes people feel sorry for me. Oh poor Emma, always the maid never the master. I am a master maid. I can get blood out of Parisian silk without leaving marks. I can get scuffs from fresh Jays out of ceramic tile imported from Italy. I can get grass stains out of Armani, BBQ sauce stains out of Prada and cum stains out of Hanes. Yeah, that’s one of my duties. Don’t pretend you’re not jealous. Come to think of it, if I were a disgusting person I could probably actually have his wee Irish babies. Just a thought for the future.

We’ll file that one under, “please don’t tell my mum I think about stuff like this.”

Anyways, the first job involves going round to Niallers mums and helping her with the washing, chatting, having a cup of tea, dusting the mantle, catching up on Top Gear with Chris and then being shooed out by Maura, clutching soft baked cookies or some chocolate that I wouldn’t be able to afford. One time she shooed me off with a bottle of wine and the next day she made me sit with her as she gave me a lecture on why I shouldn’t drink, and then she cried because she felt awful about giving me alcohol even though I’m twenty-four and even though I didn’t even drink it and even though it was still in my bag because I googled it and it was a five-hundred pound bottle of wine and I am simply too well mannered to accept such a gift. I don’t know where the manner fairies lay on that subject, actually. Do you keep the expensive gift or do you refuse it? What if you don’t drink wine?

My first day on the job Maura basically just talked to me about the new flowers she planted in the garden and did everything that I was hired to do and then tipped me a tenner before helping me into my coat and pulling my hat over my ears like I was one of her kids off to school. It was awesome, and she continued like that for over a week, even though I protested over and over again. I think she got a talkin’ to by one of her boys because after that I was on my own for a few months. We became friends though, because she insisted on sitting with me in whatever room I was working in. At first I figured she thought I’d steal something but then I decided she was just bored of talking to men all the time, which made my time much less stressful.

This day was no different than any other day. Maura and I did some last minute pre-holiday cleaning, opened all of the windows, re-folded all the linens, vacuumed the mattresses, steamed the curtains, etcetera. I wish I didn’t feel so guilty when she helped me. It’s not like I ask for her help, I think she just wants to, but I am being paid to do this, she should be relaxing and going on brunch dates with her mates, or whatever ladies do, not helping me. I do love Maura, however. She’s like my mum but without all the drama. And she has a famous kid. Which is cool.

I finally got out of the place at five o’clock and headed out to my next haunt. Flat of the man himself. It was spotlessly clean all the time because he wasn’t there and I am like really good at my job, but there was a lot to do before winter began. I sound like I live on the prairie, good lord. There wasn’t much to do. There wasn’t much to do after a party in that house, let alone after it sat most of the year gathering dust. Now, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t follow One Direction, and I’d also be lying if I said I don’t run a fan twitter account. I’d also be lying if I said I thought I had any semblance of a chance with any of them, so the whole working for a member of One Direction thing isn’t really anything to gawk at. I literally clean his toilet for a living, and feel free to think whatever you want but shit stinks, and he has the sweatiest feet in the entire world, I swear to god. I have to wash his socks. I know his secrets.

Anyways, I knocked on the door and nobody answered, as per usual, so I opened it up and came inside, announcing myself, “Maid service!” like they train us to. The house was barren, as per. Since the house was always empty there was no set schedule, I just had to be there before 8pm, when the alarm system automatically locked. During the time he was actually home, aka winter time, I was supposed to come in at 8 in the morning on the dot, but that time wasn’t coming for another month. Now, back to the reason why I mentioned being a fan earlier. I knew that he was in town because of twitter, and uh duh, Maura was practically hovering with excitement. The thing was that he was supposed to be out with friends, so I didn’t think anything of it. I figured this would be like any other day where I walk in, find Styrofoam clam shells with oily, dead chow mein laying about in the kitchen, dirty, stinky socks in the hamper, shoes laying in like way too many different places and jackets hanging over the backs of practically every chair, but no Niall, so I just went about my business.

I was going to open all of the windows but it was too cold out so I skipped that and dusted the place instead. As per usual there were food containers and socks everywhere. Okay there was only one sock and it was in the hamper, but I actually found myself worried about the other sock’s whereabouts for a moment. What can I say, I need friends. After the straightening up was done in the living room, dining room and kitchen I went in to the guest room, knocked on the door and announced myself, then went in to check if the sheets smelled stale. I sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed a fluffy white pillow, burying my face in it. I could never figure out how I could use the same exact washing liquid on my own bedding, but the smell only lasted like a day. As I dropped the pillow from my nose I heard a clicking noise and then a sharp in-breath.

“What’re you doing in here?” he said, his voice was hoarse with sleep and lager. I immediately thought we were being robbed because he didn’t sound like him, but it suddenly dawned on me that the bedroom door was shut that whole time. I always leave the door open for reasons exactly such as this. I turned around slowly because I couldn’t hardly believe what was happening and saw him standing in that doorway with his phone to his ear and his hand held up in the “stop” position in front of him.

“I.. I’m the maid? I work here?” I practically choked on my own words. I imagined puking all over the bed and having to clean it up before I left.

“Look, I appreciate your enthusiasm toward the band but you can’t sneak into peoples’ houses” he said and held fast in the doorway, “Yes, there’s an intruder in my house” he said into his phone, and I knew he was on with the police. I tried explaining to him like twelve times that I was his maid, that he hired me but he was drunk and tired and shirtless and I know that the shirtless part doesn’t explain him not believing me but I thought you’d like to know. I mean damn.

“I.. My name is Emma Parish, you hired me like a year ago.” I said and he scoffed.

“You fans are amazing. You can find anything out” he slurred and stumbled slightly. I moved towards him to help him get his bearings but he jumped so quickly he nearly hit his head on the doorframe. “Don’t! Stay there!” he said and it suddenly occurred to me how scared he was. He stared at me and I pretended not to notice that he was quivering a little bit. I was taller than him in my work shoes by like… two inches probably. He was thinner than he appeared on Tumblr. I made a mental note to go on a diet after all of this was over.

“My bag is on the table, just check my I.D.” I said but there was a knock on the door already and then a huge guy stormed in and grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me out into the living room where we sat silently until the cops showed up. I inferred that he was a bodyguard, but decided that all of Niall’s employees needed to have a pancake social and get to know each other to avoid this sort of situation. I tried to explain to the body guard lad but he told me to shut up, repeatedly.

I had never been so thankful to see cops than at the moment that they appeared. Seconds after I told them who I was they asked for my ID, and moments after they handed me my bag I was able to give it to them, and suddenly the mood shifted. I wasn’t in the clear yet and they had to call my aunt Jolene who owns the maid service to come in and say that I was me. Just what I needed. When she got there she confirmed everything though and soon enough the cops were leaving. The body guard apologised for being a twat and Niall looked about to cry with embarrassment. Aunt Jolene was furious and kept telling Niall she was so sorry about the whole situation and that a new girl would be in tomorrow and all that sort of stuff, but the cool part happened after he interrupted her (I know right) to tell her that it wasn’t necessary.

“No, no. I feel like absolute shit, I am so sorry Ms. Parish. I just didn’t expect- I mean- I guess- Do maids wear uniforms anymore?” he wasn’t slurring anymore but he was still a little wobbly. Aunt Jolene went on to say that I had a dress I was supposed to wear but that I refused to wear it and that this entire situation was my fault but he cut her off again and practically demanded that I speak.

“It’s um.. It’s really hard to clean when you’re wearing a dress that exposes your underwear every time you bend over.” I gave it to them bluntly. A self-deprecating though crossed my head for a moment where I thought “oh well, if I were thin or pretty or something like that Niall and Mr. body guard man would have exchanged some look like, “oh yeah, nice!” or something” but I shooed it away to think about later. Possibly later that night when I went through every detail of the day moment by moment analyzing every embarrassing thing that I did. But not right now.

The body guard kind of made this concerned scoff and Niall just smiled that smile that Maura does when she feels bad for me. Aunt Jolene made it clear that I would not be working there any longer so there was no need for him to worry and that whomever she assigned would definitely be wearing a uniform.

“No, listen. She’s fine, I’ve been drinking and I just wasn’t expecting anyone over—“  
“Well don’t worry, dear she won’t be back!” Aunt Jolene cut Niall off again.

Naturally the millionaire pop star heart throb made a frustrated noise and grabbed me (super gently, I mean like. Super gently. He’s so lucky I refill his lotion bottles all over the house) by the elbow and led me into the kitchen, leaving aunt Jolene in a cloud of dust. Once in the kitchen he took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes hard.

“I am so sorry I put you through that... A few months ago a fan broke into my hotel room through the balcony door and now I just have this fear of people watching me while I sleep. I know it’s stupid, but... I.. Don’t know. You were smelling the fucking sheets, what even..?” he trailed off.

“I... That’s not an irrational fear, I mean. I’d be the same way, there’re really no hard feelings. Oh and the pillow thing. I was smelling to make sure they still smelled nice. I promise I’m not really the ‘smell your idols’ kind of girl” I said, immediately regretting it. He chuckled and boosted himself up onto the counter.

“Hey, you’re not fired” he paused and then said louder out towards the living room, “She’s not fired, Ms. Jolene, I was just startled. And she’s a friend of my mum anyways. I’d never hear the end of it” he said, winking at me (I know right).  
  
He yawned loudly and I realized that it was already nine o’clock. Jesus. I let him talk to me for a few more minutes as I put away the cleaning supplies and then I promised that I’d be back in the morning to clean everything up, but for now I’d let him get some sleep.

I practically carried aunt Jolene out of the house as she pinched me and squawked about how I’d lose my job and I’d never work as a maid again and blah blah blah man that woman can squeak. I couldn’t wait to get home and update my twenty seven followers on my day, but first I had to survive the grueling trip home with my aunt.


	2. I was thirsty so I drank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niall makes an attempt at apologizing for the previous day’s sins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Music:
> 
> Change of Time by Josh Ritter  
> https://youtu.be/2iSmrryfxGM
> 
> You From This Sting by Kinny  
> https://youtu.be/xKa8RFj5HRU

I realized I forgot to tell you one key fact that could change everything. One tiny fact that my entire story hinges on, and that you wouldn’t even guess if I paid you to. 

I’m a Harry girl. 

In the interest of full disclosure I’ve also been called a hairy girl but that’s another story entirely. The point is that I have all of the tools necessary to meet the boy I have lusted after for like six years and yet- and yet I don’t. 

This one time I saw that he was in London for Maura’s birthday and I assumed, based on the note that was left for me that explicitly said “please make up the spare room for a guest,” that he would be staying at Niallers. I knew from a (cough) stalker account (cough) that he was en route to the house, and I also knew that I could easily draw out my cleaning duties that day to allow me to meet this boy, but did I?

No. Because I’m dedicated to the privacy of my customers. Oh and also I’m so cripplingly self conscious that the thought of an attractive person even looking at me makes me need to wee myself. I’m a winner.

So back to our story. It was the next day and I was at the coffee shop cleaning a toilet when my boss, Jeremy, came up to me. He’d been out all night and had (surprise!) vomit on his corporate issued khakis. It was blue and yellow. My mind was an entire question mark. I found myself thinking about the sheer volume of baking soda that I would need to get that stain out.

“Hey Em. Did you-“ he burped, something he would never do in front of Shannon, but I digress, “- did you take the trash out of the break room?” He asked, attempting to force out a second burp by lightly beating his chest with a closed fist. 

“Nope” I said, giving him one of those ‘I’ve been here for three minutes you massive twat’ smiles. You know the one I’m sure. 

“Well... Do it.” He said, and left the bathroom like he was leaving a morgue. 

Right’o boss. Right’o. 

I finished up the bathroom and took out the trash for Jeremy, and then I started in on the floors like the chubby little Cinderella that I am. You know, I had a thought about Cinderella the other day and I thought Jesus, is she the only one with a size 7.5 shoe in all of the land? And then I realized that a glass slipper would have to be made to fit exactly, so while there would likely be another person with the same width and length of foot somewhere in the world, it would be much less likely that the prince could find them in an afternoon of searching. Then I realized that glass doesn’t flex, which made me think that they must have fit the shoe while she put weight on it, which caused her foot to spread out. When she ran down the stairs and took her weight off of the shoe, thus making her foot less wide, it fell off. Glass is a wildly inappropriate material for footwear, and yet I have wished to get glass slippers every birthday and Christmas since I was five years old. 

The day dragged on like it typically did but soon enough I was off of my morning job and on the bus headed towards Maura’s. I wondered if her son had been in touch with her, but I decided he probably hadn’t. Despite my decision, I still thought to practice a few things to say just in case she expressed her deepest sympathies. Here’s a few examples: “Oh, it’s perfectly fine, Maura, he was just trying to keep himself safe,” “It was quite a fright, I’ll admit, but in the end it all got cleared up. I just hope that we can move past this.” And so on. In one fantasy I cry a few big tears and say, “I work so hard, Mrs. Gallagher... I just can’t believe he would do that to me!” I’ll admit this one doesn’t necessarily fit the situation, but I’ve always had a kink for the dramatic. 

I started walking up the path to the house and was greeted by Maura running out of the front door with her arms wide open. She grabbed me in a bear hug and dragged me inside. She’s incredibly strong for a fifty year old, 100lb, 5’2” woman. It must be the Pilates. Wait, do people even do Pilates anymore?

“Do people still do Pilates?” I asked, but she didn’t answer my question.

“Oh my goodness, how are you? Are you okay? Did you get in trouble with your aunt? I called her and told her if she fired you I’d ruin her business!” She said, nearly shouting and still holding onto me with both arms. 

“Mrs. Maura, I’m fine! I need to take my shoes off, though.” I wasn’t lying, my feet were killing me. 

“Yes! You do that, I’ll fix a cup of tea. Meet me in the sitting room there are words to be had!” She said, scurrying to the kitchen. 

I let out an audible sigh of relief as I removed my shoes. They were these cool tan platform booties that I saw Paula from G.R.L. wearing in a music video, and they were completely impractical for my job as a maid/bathroom cleaner. I adored them.

Maura beat me to the sitting room, and was already stirring a splash of milk into my cup as I made my way to the settee. 

“Tell me everything!” She said as she handed me my cup. 

“Well, I showed up at the usual time and started cleaning and he just walked in on me and got a little startled. I’m okay, really!” I said, then took a sip of my tea. I was playing elegant when Chris came in, a phone to his ear. 

“Yep, she’s right here dear. Yep. Uh-huh, one minute.” He said into the receiver before handing it to me. I was a little shocked as in, why the hell are you giving me your phone? And didn’t answer right away, but finally I put it up to my ear.

“Hello?” I said.

“Ms. Parish! Hey, it’s Niall. I’m gonna be home this afternoon, I think we should come up with a schedule so that we both know when to expect each other, especially with the holidays I’ll be having lots of people over at all different times, so it’d just be nice to be able to plan around- I mean so you don’t have to feel awkward!” He saved himself at the last second, he was going to say to plan around me. I still caught it though, cheeky bastard.

“Sounds wonderful, I’ll see you in a few hours, I just have to finish up here and I’ll head over!” I said in my most cheerful voice. It was the same voice I used when customers at the cafe asked me if I could get them a refill on their latte. In what world is that a thing?

“Do you have a car? I’ll come get you. Just stay there, I’ll come get you.” He said and before I could reply, I mean really what if I did have a car? He was talking again, “Stay there, and don’t you dare clean anything. I’ll do it or something. Just stay there. Okay, I’m on my way, bye.” And he hung up. He sounded manic. I handed the phone back to Chris and swallowed hard.

“Looks like your boy is visiting you today. If you don’t mind I’d like to get started on the work around here.” I said quietly, and while Maura and Chris talked I took myself up to begin on the upstairs bathrooms and guest rooms. I didn’t typically come here every day, but with the holidays there was a lot of work to do, so the day before we spent all of my normal cleaning time hauling out Christmas decorations and dusting inside of the cupboards and beating rugs. 

Today I would focus on the real cleaning. Making the spare beds with fresh sheets which I would steal a sniff of just because of who I am as a person, cleaning the toilets inside and out, sweeping, dusting, and so on. The upstairs only took around an hour, and the second I lay foot on the last step of the stairs I heard his groggy hungover voice calling out for his mum from the entryway. I thought about hiding for like two seconds too long, and he was standing in front of me before I could make my escape. 

“Ms. Parish!” He said with a toothy grin. 

I cut him off before he could continue, “It’s Emma, please.” I said, slowly becoming aware of the fact that my toenails said “Fuck Bitches” on them in neon lettering that my younger sister Rebecca did the last time she was home. I curled my toes up so that he couldn’t see them and tried to pretend that I didn’t even have feet for a moment. They were one of my insecurities because like most people I carried all of my weight in my feet. That was a joke. Am I killing it or what?

“I already read them,” he said and shot me a wink. Maura entered the room with a burst of energy and gave her son a big hug and kiss and grabbed me by the arm almost a little too hard, but I’m not complaining.

“What the hell did you do to this poor sweet angel? Honestly, Niall, I thought I raised you better!” she said calmly but assertively. He seemed like a little boy now and looked away from her. Only problem is that the only place he had left to look was at me, and I think that made him feel even worse.

“It’s okay! He walked in to a stranger sniffing his pillows! It happens!” I took a deep breath, “I mean, pillow sniffing doesn’t typically just happen, but you got what I meant.” I clarified. Beacon of clarity I am. 

“You were sniffing the pillows?” Chris called out from the living room.

“Yeah,” I replied, “it’s just another perk of the job.” I joked. Chris chuckled but Maura and Niall both still looked sad. “Hey, I promise there are no hard feelings you two. Just don’t do it again and we’re all good!” I said, flashing my best customer service smile at Niall.

“Promise. Smells like bleach in here. Were you cleaning?” He replied.

“Yeah I do it for a living” I replied, probably a little too sarcastically for the second time meeting the man who signs my pay cheques. Niall gave me a slightly exasperated look before rolling his eyes and walking in towards Chris.

“I told you not to let her clean anything!” He said to his step father.

“Yeah you also said you’d be the one to do her job. I’ve been waiting for you to clean your room for fifteen years!” Maura chimed in.

I really wanted to say, “me too,” but I felt I better keep it to myself this time.

Niall flopped down on the couch for like three seconds, got up, and headed towards the front door. “Alright we better get going, we have a busy day.” He said, pointing at me but refusing to make eye contact.

“Right. What?” I said, but before I knew it I was putting on my shoes and Maura was buttoning my parka and pulling my cap on my head. She kissed my cheek, then her son’s, and we walked out the door.

When we got to his car something struck me. I didn’t use bleach that day, the smell in the house arrived with Niall. He smelled like a bottle of beer. These were hardly similar smells but out in the open it was obvious, and his limping frame which I had taken for swagger was obvious too. He’d driven here drunk. 

“You drove here drunk?” I said.

“Hardly” he replied as he fumbled for his keys and leaned against the side of the Range Rover for support. He dropped them in the street and I snatched them up before he even realised they’d hit the ground. “Hey!” He said.

“We should go back inside, maybe Chris can give us a ride.” I said, attempting to lure him back towards the house by flashing the keys at him from inside the pocket of my parka.

“No! He said and grabbed at my parka pocket, loosening the seam slightly.

“Ugh! Rude!” I shouted at him. It was my favourite parka! And it was only 10£ at the charity shop. And it fit me. What a steaming bag of dicks.

“No! No, I’m sorry! Just - let’s. You drive! Can you drive? Let’s just go back to mine. Please?” He said, his words slurring less and less. I shook my head at him and gave him my best disappointed look. 

“Get in the car and put on your seatbelt. I’m only doing this to save Maura from this knowledge.” I said and took the drivers seat. I’d never so much as seen one of these cars up close, and now I was about to drive one- and my passenger was Niall fucking Horan no less. He took his seat and gingerly buckled his seatbelt. His mania was wearing off and I could see his body releasing the tense energy, only to be replaced by the sluggish depression that comes with the post high crash.

“You know you could kill somebody doing that,” I said as I started the car and marveled at it’s plush seats and leather details. Look, I’m not a car girl but I am a luxury aficionado, and there are very few things more luxurious than a 150,000£ hunk of British design. I pulled away from the drive and started toward his flat.

“Duh” he grunted and then passed out. I wondered if he realised that he sounded like killing someone was his intention. 

I took the long way to his place for a number of reasons. 1. I wanted to drive the car as much as possible, 2. I wanted him to sleep (and thus not talk to me) for as long as possible, and 3. I wanted to devise a plan to get me out of this situation with my job still intact. The situation had gone from “I don’t fucking know you” to “I know a secret that could fuck your career” far too quickly for my tastes.

He didn’t wake up when I pulled up to his place and switched off the engine and in my panic I did what any sane person would do. I screamed and smacked his chest really hard. 

“What in the entire FUCK are you doing!?” He screamed back. He rubbed his chest and coughed loudly, it seemed I’d taken his breath away. If only that story began with something like “I entered the room in a stunning red cocktail dress. Niall stared at me from across the room, clearly awestruck. It seemed I’d taken his breath away.” A girl can dream.

“You didn’t wake up!” I shrieked back, my arm still stretched out towards him. He batted my hand away lightly and got out of the car. Well, he tried to. He neglected to unbuckle himself so he sort of just rustled against the belt for a few moments. I reached down and clicked the seatbelt button and released him. He stumbled out of the car and rubbed his chest again.

“Jesus, Emma.” He said, staring back at me for a long moment. I froze in the seat like something frozen sitting in the driver seat of a Range Rover. See, I was traumatized. I can’t even think of a good simile.

He took a deep breath and stretched his lanky body out, then made eye contact. “All right. Come on.” He said and motioned me into his house. 

When we made it inside I found myself suddenly very uncomfortable. We were alone. I’d just physically assaulted him. I’d read a lot of fan fiction so I knew the only two possible outcomes here were that he’d fuck me senseless bent over the kitchen table, or he’d call the police again and have me arrested, this time for real. I’d probably even die in prison before he realized he was truly madly deeply in love with me. 

I apologize whole heartedly for that last line..

“I- where do we go from here?” He asked, checking the red hand print on his chest in the mirror. I neglected to tell him what the fan fiction would have him do.

“I think... You should maybe sleep this off. Have you eaten? How long have you been drunk?” I asked with my best nurse voice. He laughed at me and flopped down on the sofa. 

“I had Guinness for brekky. It’s the way of my people.” He joked.

“What people, alcoholics?” I said before realising exactly what I was saying. It was too late now though, I’d committed to telling my boss he was an alcoholic, I might as well go the distance so to speak. He blinked at me in a way that said “what the fuck don’t speak like that to me peon” but I could have been reading into it, I don’t know. I sighed at him and walked over to the kitchen. There were more than just Guinness bottles strewn about. Among the rubble, an empty bottle of brandy was smashed in the kitchen sink. I wondered if he’d finished it before he broke it. The place was a mess. I looked in the fridge and found nothing, as per usual.

“Okay. You go shower and brush your teeth. Put on clean clothes and take a nap. I’ll wake you for dinner in five hours.” I said sternly, but he couldn’t get off of the sofa by himself. I held out my hand for him and helped him up. He was so light I could probably dead lift him with one arm. Okay maybe not but you get what I’m hinting at right? He didn’t look well.

I helped him to the master suite and started the shower water while he picked out some pajamas from his dresser. He chose the red flannel, a personal favorite of mine. I left him to his devices and went out to clean up the trash in the kitchen. I’d only seen it like this one other time since I’d worked for him and it was when his girlfriend dumped him about a year ago. He threw a bottle of vodka at the wall and left the glass sticking out of the drywall for me to clean up, and hire a contractor to fix. I couldn’t help but feel like he was being kind of a baby about whatever was going on with him,

I heard the shower shut off and reminded myself that if this were fan fiction I would accidentally walk in on him in his towel, which would drop around his ankles exposing his manhood (or some equally horrible name for a penis). 

This wasn’t fanfiction, so instead of catching a glimpse of his naked and undoubtedly chiselled physique (and possibly committing some kind of crime like peeping or something), I took out the trash, and I took my time doing so.

When I came back in he was standing at the counter looking into the sink. The water was on and he was tense.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, looking over his shoulder at me. He didn’t need to say anything else, I’d forgiven him right then and there. He looked like a lost little boy and something deep inside me just wanted to mother him.

“It’s okay. We all have shit.” I said. Apparently I’d forgotten that you’re supposed to censor yourself around your boss. Whatever.

He nodded and stuck his thumb under the water, making it turn red as it splashed into the sink. I ran over to him, worried he’d done something horrible. He’d only cut his thumb trying to clean up the glass so I didn’t have to. What was with this family and being unable to let a maid do her job!? I’m literally a professional glass cleaner upper.

“Hey hey let me look at it!” I said and grabbed his hand from the water. It wasn’t anything serious but it needed pressure stat. I scrambled for the first aid kit as he stood like a zombie with his finger under the water. He didn’t look hurt or sad or mad or anything he just looked kinda dead. Like in the eyes. Like a mall Santa in November.

I wrapped his finger tight in gauze and tape and held it in my fist for a moment. When I’d confirmed the bleeding stopped I let go. We stood there in a sad weird silence for a bit before he finally looked up at me. “I’m gonna go lay down,” he said.

“Night,” I replied with a tiny smile. This wasn’t even normal awkward, we skipped past that and landed ourselves on the “woke up in bed together after a one night stand but they won’t leave your apartment the following morning” space of awkwardness. I felt like running away the second he opened his bedroom door, but when he neglected to close it after himself I decided I’d better see how this played out. If this were fan fiction I’d end up pregnant. Yippee!

I waited around, quietly cleaning up the kitchen and then the rest of the house until there was nothing left to do. I stood there and tried to figure out what I should do now that the chores were all done. I heard him begin to snore so I figured it was a great time to sneak out and never come back go to the shop to pick up food for dinner. 

I’d decided to go old school British, that way I could get away with using cheap (and few) ingredients. I knew he had a Le Creuset Dutch oven because I recalled wondering why a guy who only ever ate Chinese takeout would own such a pot. I chose an Irish stew my father used to make. It was game hen fried and deglazed in the pan with potatoes, leeks, and a thick sauce. 

I carried the paper sack of groceries back to his place and tried to calm myself down along the way. In two days I’d nearly been arrested by, been invited Home with, driven the vehicle of, made accusations of alcoholism about, and physically assaulted Niall Horan, and now I was on my way to cook him dinner. I swore if this didn’t end in marriage I’d give up on life.

I rounded a corner and was stopped by two youngish looking chavs. 

“Evening miss, can I get your number?” The taller one asked, looking me up and down.

“Haven’t got one.” I replied, and kept walking. 

“Oí fuck off then biffa!” He shouted after me as I walked down the unfortunately well populated street. Why were there always so many witnesses when I got called fat?

I arrived at his house and climbed the steps. When I got in I saw that he’d moved to the sofa, but was fast asleep. It appeared that he moved out there to listen to The Smiths on vinyl. What a fucking hipster. A very tired hipster that didn’t wake up even when the bottom of the bag I was carrying broke and sent potatoes flying across the entryway floor.

I glanced at the clock: 7pm. I realised I had better get started on dinner but a weird and undeniably creepy/ironic part of me wanted to watch him sleep for a moment. Not in a stalker “I-want-to-hear-your-lungs-inflate-and-deflate” kind of way but just to make sure he was breathing and stuff. He also looked pretty sweet when he was asleep. 

I glanced in his direction and was met with a loud and very unattractive snore, followed by a weird grunt and him shifting his position into the most unnatural pretzel looking corkscrew of a contortion that I had ever seen somebody sleep in. Good enough for me, I thought, and went to work cooking his dinner.

Sometimes Maura and I would bake together, or she would bake and I would watch, or I would bake and she would tell me what I was doing wrong. It was awesome. My only company this time around was the loud but repetitive and dare I say almost soothing sound of the chainsaw that was Niall’s sinuses as he snored his way through dream land. What a fucking catch this boy was. 

The chicken was nearly finished in the pan and veg had gone in to sear when he woke up of his own accord. He lay on the couch for about fifteen minutes presumably staring at the wall before finally getting up and sitting at the kitchen counter on a bar stool. His cheeks were pink with sleep and I could still smell the alcohol on him, only now it mingled with manly smelling cologne and shampoo and whatever else he lathered all over himself before during and after that shower. It was putrid.

I plugged my nose instinctively and then forced myself to take my hand away from my nose so I didn’t offend him. I did anyways. From the corner of my eye I saw him pull his shirt up to his nose and smell down his body. Even he made a face.

“I’m uh.. Gonna go shower again.” He said and went back to his room. He was walking more sober and he wasn’t slurring his words so I wondered if he had just begun to sweat out the last of the alcohol, or if he was just at a level of drunk now that looked less horrible. Either way it was a relief to be alone again. 

By the time he came out again, now wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants for some unknown reason, the potatoes were in the stew and I was just waiting for them to cook the last ten minutes or so. He took a seat across from me at the counter again and clasped his hands in his lap. He didn’t take his eyes off of them. 

He smelled a thousand times better, though there was still a hint of something yeasty coming from him. That made it sound like he had some sort of infection which I will let stand because at that point I could neither confirm nor deny that fact. His cologne filled the room again but in a pleasant way this time. It was that kind of smell that reminds you of sex but also of, like, the mall. It was good is what I’m getting at.

“What are you making?” He asked me after a long while of us staring at our hands. 

“Uh, a stew. It’s game hen... Shit do you eat meat?” I asked, realising I’d never seen meat in the house. He laughed a little bit and smiled at me.

“Yeah, yeah I do. Is it an Irish stew? You didn’t have to do that, I’ve acclimated to non-Irish food you know.” He said sarcastically. What a boy.

“No, I just. It’s easy. It’s my dad’s recipe.” I said as I took the lid off of the pot and poked a potato to test it’s firmness. Nearly done.

“Nice... Is your dad Irish?” he asked.

“Nope, he’s Swedish.” I said without batting an eye. Oh, did I tell you that already? I’m half Swede. The last name comes from my dad’s step-father. I’ll tell you the family drama later or something, but at the moment Niall was looking at me with raised brows. Likely thinking about how most Swedes he knew were tall thin and blonde. An accurate stereotype.

“Why does he have a recipe for Irish stew?” He asked me finally.

“I mean who doesn’t, really.” I replied and smiled at him. “No it’s uh, it was his boss’s wife’s recipe. It was so good that he went over to their house and wrote everything down while she made it so he could share it with all of us. It took him something like ten tries to get it right, and we all had to sit through the same food every day for weeks until he figured it out.” I said with a smile. I jabbed another potato with a fork and finally the meal was done. 

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” He asked me as he got up and grabbed two bowls and two sets of cutlery from the cupboard. I was frankly surprised he knew where that stuff was.

“Yeah... Two older brothers and a little sister.” I said quietly. I was becoming aware of the fact he expected me to eat dinner with him. He set the bowls at the table and grabbed a hot pad to place on the table so we could eat family-style. He also grabbed a bottle of wine which I took out of his hands before he walked past me. “Probably not, love.” I said with a little smile. 

He bit his lip and grabbed a lighter instead. I imagined him lighting me and the food on fire and then downing the entire bottle of wine in a frenzied fuck you of an act. He didn’t. He lit the centerpiece candles alight and jogged back to the kitchen to grab the pan of food, a ladle, and some napkins. I didn’t really know what to do.

“Awfully romantic, wouldn’t you say?” I joked nervously and he laughed and motioned for me to join him at the table. 

He served us both and ran back to the kitchen to grab a pitcher of water and two wine glasses. What kind of twenty four year old has an entire set of wine glasses? What twenty four year old boy drinks wine regularly enough to have not only wine glasses, but a wine fridge. A hipster, that’s what kind of twenty four year old. The hipster kind, ugh.

I took a big very trashy gulp of water from the glass and set it back on the table when he turned away to turn on the stereo with his phone. He played “You From This Sting” by Kinny. A great song, and possibly the least and most romantic song he could have chosen? It left me very confused. 

“So. I’m sorry.” He said, and then took a huge bite of potato. I really wanted to make a joke about him being Irish and going straight for the potatoes but I held it in because I have control over my life. And because I figured he dealt with that kind of thing a lot. Aren’t I a sweetheart?

“It’s okay... You’re um... You’re not okay, though.” I said. 

He didn’t say anything for a long while, like long enough for us both to eat half of our food.

“No, I’m not okay.” He said at last. He shoveled more food into his mouth in an attempt to get out of talking more about it and I let him do so.

“We can fix that.” I choked out. I had no idea how I’d help him in any way but he needed help. He was really hurting.  
He nodded at me and motioned at the food, “this is great. You a chef?” He asked me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, questions, comments, concerns? Let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts, questions, comments, concerns? Let me know!


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